


What's The Use In Wishing?

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5806228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to the toy department at Macy’s goes terribly awry. (Inspired by the Christmas classic, 'Miracle on 34th St')</p>
<p>Originally Written for the 'Countdown to Wintertown' Game of Ships Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's The Use In Wishing?

“I’m not sure about this, Mr. Tyrell. It seems awfully silly.”

Willas smiles. Any other child her age might have excitedly sprinted from his side the moment they entered the toy department, but Alys has stayed close, holding onto Willas’s free hand and eyeing their surroundings (the toys, the  children, _Santa Claus_ ) in that severe little way of hers that seems so funny in a child.  

“Well,” Willas sighs, shrugging his shoulders in exaggerated disappointment. “I thought maybe you’d feel differently if you talked to the old fellow. But if you don’t want to…”

“Ok, Mr. Tyrell,” Alys concedes quickly, indulging him. “I’m certainly willing to try.”

They take their place in line and wait with the other children and their mothers. Willas passes the time by asking Alys about her school, but she fidgets distractedly, too busy watching the children ahead of them. 

At last their turn comes and Willas helps Alys settle onto her perch on Santa’s knee.

“Well hello there! And what is your name, little girl?”

“Alys Hardyng. What’s yours?”

The jolly old elf seems thrown for a moment but then he laughs.

“Kris Kringle.” He leans forward as if to take Alys into his confidence. “I’m Santa Claus.”

The doubtful look Alys shoots the old man has Willas biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Santa has no such restraint, chuckling merrily.

“Oh ho! You don’t believe that, eh?”

“Uh uh,” Alys shakes her head, blonde curls bouncing. “You see, my mother is Mrs. Hardyng. The lady who hired you,” Alys explains. “But I must say you’re the best looking Santa Clause I’ve ever seen,” she adds diplomatically.

“Well thank you.”

Alys gives him another appraising once-over before saying, “Your beard doesn’t have those things that go over your ears.”

“Well that’s because it’s real! Just like I’m really Santa Clause! Go ahead. Pull it!” he encourages, jutting out his chin.

Alys turns to Willas who grins and gestures for her to go ahead. She hesitates a moment longer before reaching forward and giving Santa’s beard a light tug. 

And then it happens. Like a switch being flipped on in a dark room, Alys’s whole face transforms from skepticism to wonder.

“You see? Just as real as I am!” Santa boasts.

_Bless the old man!_ Willas thinks, smiling at the almost reverent way Alys looks at Santa now. _How could Sansa hire such a ringer for St. Nick and not want Alys to believe?_

“Now then, what would you like me to bring you for Christmas?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

This time Willas does laugh, covering it with a cough as he clutches his cane tightly.

His thoughts turn to his nieces and nephews. Willas won’t be able to got home to California to see them this Christmas, but he knows from his last letter from Garlan and Leo that each of the kids has a list a mile long for Santa by now. _What would they make of little Alys?_

“Whatever I want my mother will get,” Alys continues primly. “If it’s sensible and doesn’t cost too much.”

As if summoned by Alys’s words, Sansa materializes on the other side of Santa’s chair.

“Alys dear, I think you’ve taken up enough of this gentleman’s time.”

With that, she ushers Alys briskly to the edge of the toy department, leaving Willas to hobble hurriedely behind them.

“Your maid’s mother sprained her ankle,” Willas explains once he reaches them. “She had to go home and she asked me to bring Alys down to you.”

“Yes, I know. She phoned.”

Willas isn’t sure what to make of the look Sansa sends is way, and scratches at the back of his neck nervously.

“Well, I figured since we were already here we might as well say hello to Santa Clause.” Willas shrugs.

“He’s a nice old man, mother!” Alys pipes in, tugging on Sansa’s skirt. “And his whiskers are real too!”

“Yes dear. A lot of old men have whiskers like that,” Sansa says placatingly, kneeling down to smooth over Alys’s coat. “Alys, would you mind standing over there a minute? I’d like to speak with Mr. Tyrell.”

“If you want me to,” Alys nods before wandering towards a display of baby dolls. 

Sansa rises gracefully and shoots Willas a cold look.

“I uh…I shouldn’t have brought Alys to see Santa, is that it? I didn’t see any harm in just saying hello to the old fellow.”

Sansa sighs, crossing her arms.

“Well I see a great deal of harm, Mr. Tyrell. I tell her Santa Claus is a myth and you bring her down here to meet a very convincing old gentleman with real whiskers.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

“Life is not a song, Mr. Tyrell!” Sansa says sharply. “By filling her full of fairytales she’ll grow up thinking life is a fantasy instead of a reality. She’ll keep waiting for Prince Charming to come along and when he does he’ll be—”

“We were talking about Alys, not you,” Willas interrupts, eyeing her levelly.

Sansa flushes, her face taking on a pinched almost pained look.

Willas has never wanted to hear about the now absent ‘Mr. Hardyng’. As far as he was concerned, any man fool enough to walk away from Sansa and a great kid like Alys is a madman or worse and not worth the bother. But now Willas is consumed with an overwhelming urge to root out the man and blacken his eye for the damage he has left behind.

“Whether you agree with me or not, I have to ask you to respect my wishes, Mr. Tyrell,” Sansa says stiffly, once she’s managed to collect herself. “Alys? Come along. The store is going to close soon.”

Willas watches as they walk away, Alys turning around once to give him a parting wave. 

The fellas at the firm had warned him when he first came to New York not to bother with befriending his neighbors. But it is too late now. He is much too fond of Sansa and little Alys to go back to thinking of them as the nameless tenants in apartment 7B.

He knows he should apologize, make things right before he permanently jeopardizes his place in their peculiar little clan, but something in Willas can’t seem to do it.

Sansa is wrong. There is nothing harmful in letting a bright, sweet kid like Alys believe in Santa Claus. And Prince Charming will come, _has come_ (albeit a little late). Willas just needs a way to make her believe. Make both of them believe. 

_But how?_


End file.
